On May 11, 2018, I stood upstairs looking at the L-shaped hallway in my house. There was two-door on my right side and another two in front of me.  I held on tight to the railing on my left, trying to keep myself grounded. Focusing on the bare and coarse wood underneath my fingertips. 

The walls were painted a shade of white that seemed foreign to me even though they were the exact same walls I had just saw forty minutes ago. I let go of the railing; letting my arm fall to my side. I walked forward and stopped at the teal backpack that sat in front of the first door down the hallway. It was my backpack. It laid right where I had dropped when I had to run for my life. A hand gently rubbed my right shoulder blade and I tensed up. 

“Megan, if you can’t do this that's okay.” my mother's empathetic voice rang in my ears. How I pitied her and my family. I was the sole reason all of this was happening to us. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” hearing my miserable voice made me feel even more like a tragedy. I shrugged my mom's hand off my shoulder and turn to face my door. I took one step so I standing in the doorway and I look straight down. Those bold black words written in my white carpet seems so unrealistic. I quickly shot my head up analyzing my spotless room, which had not been clean that morning when I had left for school. I took a deep breath and step into my room and over his masterpiece that laid in front of my door.

 I knew better than to touch anything because it was a crime scene after all. I walked around my room slowly taking every detail that wasn't the same. My once messy bed seemed to be tucked so tight that you couldn't even slide a piece of paper under the covers. The books that were scattered across my whole room were put back in their bookshelves and alphabetized; The bookshelf itself had even been wiped down. The dirty clothes that have littered my floor were put in a pile in my walk-in closet. My vanity had been reorganized but something was missing. 

An empty spot next to my mirror. A pink Minnesota Wild teddy bear was supposed to be there. I had gotten it at a Wild Game when I was six. My parents had got me the teddy bear and my older brother a Minnesota Wild foam claw. I loved that bear.

 I covered my mouth so I wouldn't scream as the reality of the situation hit me harder than ever. I had been so focused on helping the police catch my stalker that I hadn't realized that this was my room. It had once been my childhood but now it was just a room that no longer had a heart or soul. He took it when he left. How could my innocence be stripped away by one man? My room was no longer mine nor would it ever be again. My white floor that had colorful paint stains scattered across it seemed to be black. The mint green walls that I had once bounced my thoughts off of seem to be screaming the three-letter phrase he had left for me at my door I’m still here.

To this day I still don’t feel like it's my room. He changed it from mine to his. A childhood to a nightmare.